Since I was cutting the run short, anyway, I was pleased when I looked up from my fish treat and spotted what I reckoned to be another pub sign. Even better, this appeared to be a deviant bar so at last I might have an interesting write-up to do (no offense to the Tree, the Waterside, or the Coy Carp earlier this day). I eagerly approached the Carpet and Vinyl with thoughts of 70’s pubic hair and form-fitting/fluids resistance outfits.
Alas, it was non-euphemistically a carpet and vinyl shop. Sort of the old bait-and-switch (and, come to think of it, “The Bait & Switch” might make a good fetish bar name, too).
Everyone should send a letter or, since everyone reads them if they pass through their hands, a postcard like this one to
President Stephen Bannon
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20500
A) this seems to be the sort of thing that gets under Trump’s skin and might cause him to have a stroke if it happens enough, and
B) see A).
Links to terminology:
Cottaging (also, this video from Monkey Dust)
Santorum (if the link ever fails, Google search “frothy” and “Santorum”)
FBs (hint, NOT FaceBook or First Baptist, unless it is)
Drunken Bunny Liqueurs
British betting shops are ready to cover your Trump related wagers. At Ladbrokes, we have:
The troubling one on that list is 2025 OR LATER…. Well, not as troubling as 2017 ever becoming an option in the first place.
The selection at Paddy Power is:
I have a lousy gambling record so I don’t want to read too much into this, but those seem like pretty good odds for the Wee-wee Tape coming out (yes, he puts the ‘P’ in POTUS). And, if I understand the semantics of this slate of bets then he has slightly better odds of Splitting With His Soft Core Porn Star Wife than he has of Not Getting Inaugurated In The Next 24 Hours. I keep saying, ill-advised though it is to do so out loud, that America really needs a patriot with good aim to step up (maybe a Secret Service Agent with inoperable cancer?) and get me that 20:1 payoff.
Stanhope’s ghoulish Celebrity Death Pool (fantasy football for the obituary obsessives) seems to have tapped into that same stream of consciousness. The leading ‘picks’ as of yesterday were the easy to justify Charlie Manson and George HW Bush. Number 3? You don’t get that many votes from people expecting a fatal hairspray incident:
This line isn’t my review but it made me laugh and seems to fit the Star of Kings. I wish I could remember who to give the credit to, but it ain’t me, babe:
“It’s a theme bar: shitty service, shitty drinks, shitty music, shitty customers.”
You’re really not welcome here if you’re old enough not to carry proof of age. Here’s my conversation at the bar (where they took my money then, thereafter, refused to acknowledge my requests for information):
“Do you have any porters or stouts on?”
“We have N1. Would you like that?”
“If it is a porter or stout, sure. Pint of, please.” She proceeded to draw the glass when I noticed the pump clip.
“Hey, stop! That’s a pale ale.”
She shoved the froth toward me. “Just try it,” she said, obviously annoyed.
“Is there a problem?” a little fellow with a beard — of course — inquired.
“That’s a pale ale.”
“Yes it is.”
“It’s neither a porter nor a stout,” I finished.
“Do you want a porter or a stout?” he asked as if somehow I was the fuck up, here.
“I think so. It’s what I asked for.”
“But, we don’t have one,” she complained as if that made it alright; Shorty McBeardy steered her to the back bar and eventually, she returned with a dark pint that needed topping up but, then again, it wasn’t that good.
Sick all weekend and most of Monday, I sought out some relief at Superdrug where the closest thing to a Goody’s powder I’ve seen over here caught my eye. Beechams are VERY disappointing: they’re FLAVOURED and, moreover, it’s with some sort of anise essence and a sweetener (Goody’s taste like caffeine, aspirin, and acetaminophen like God intended). Vile concoction.
I also got some nasal spray. I chose this one because I think every third person you meet in Alabama, Georgia, or South Carolina has an Aunt Otrivine:
I bought my i-Phone off a junkie in Amsterdam for 10 euros. I cracked the system (i-Phone 4 was the last you could do this on) and as a result it isn’t a phone but it IS a camera, a GPS, and — when there’s accessible WiFi (which, because of cracking skills, there usually is) — an internet browser. I love it when people try to get clever with their WiFi router names (mine is named after my previous cat, so no points for me). “Pretty Fly For A WiFi” out in Cirencester was my favourite until I spotted this one (pictured), today. Anyone out there have (or seen) better ones?